Ozzy Grissom
by ILoveJorja
Summary: After an accident on the job, Gil Grissom becomes a kind of Ozzy Osbourne.  Good thing he's married to Sara.


**Ozzy Grissom**

**A/N: **Okay, this is a goofy one. A one-shot, as I have to get away from unfinished multi-chapters! This story was inspired by one of those half dream/half memory moments when I'm half awake. Whether I'm remembering or in a REM state is debatable. Maybe both. Anyway I was inspired by the reality show about Ozzy Osbourne, his wife Sharon, and their kids Kelly and Jack, which aired a bunch of years ago. You young-uns may not remember it, but it was entertaining and enlightening back in the day.

Ozzy is a walking advertisement for 'Just say no to drugs, kids,' as most of the time he is in a sort of murky haze and walks like a zombie, from misuse of hallucinogens and god-knows-what in his youth. His care and well-being are in the capable hands of his spouse, and whenever he needs her, he bellows, "Sharon!" which always makes me chuckle. When my eyes were open and cognitive thought had returned, I pondered what Grissom would be like as a kind of Ozzy. So here it is.

Hurt/Comfort/Romance. GSR. Rated T.

**************************************GSR************************************

"Okay, you rolling?"

"Yup."

The twenty-something film student and his burly cameraman were at the front door of a modest two-story wood frame house on a quiet street in Las Vegas. The camera whirred as the narration started.

"We're at the home of legendary criminalists Dr Gil Grissom and his wife, CSI Sara Sidle. This is an interview with the crime fighting couple, as part of a senior project. Dr. Grissom retired after an accident on the job about two years ago, and we're going to find out more about that, and about the careers of both these scientists. Ready?"

The dark-haired young man smiled into the camera, then turned and rang the doorbell. After a short wait, a short, harassed-looking blonde woman in scrubs appeared at the door.

"Yes? Can I help you?" She caught sight of the video camera and frowned. "What's with the camera?"

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Drew Parsons said politely. "We're with the UNLV graduate film studies program, and are here to interview Dr Grissom and his wife. We're expected."

"Nobody told me," she muttered, opening the door. "I'm Roberta. Grissom's physical therapist. Wait here." She rushed off.

The students took advantage of the interval to film the interior of the house. Lots of sunlight streamed through the tall windows flanking the door, lighting dust motes and pooling on the polished surface of the wood floor. The click click of the nails of an elderly boxer signaled his arrival. The white-faced dog approached, sniffed the student's legs with mild interest, then collapsed with a deep satisfied sigh on a much used dog bed in the corner. The hallway leading to the rest of the house was lined with overstuffed bookcases, and there was a small room to the right which was obviously a study, with more bookcases and specimens in jars and in shadow boxed frames. Piles of papers, journals, files, a lamp made of green glass and a laptop were atop the L-shaped desk.

In the hall, sand colored walls were adorned with framed insects, mostly colorful butterflies, and folk art from third world countries–a pair of monkey masks, a machete with an ornate belt of woven string, a woman's straw hat with a band of feathers, pan pipes, and the like. The table by the door was covered with an embroidered cloth and multiple framed photos of smiling handsome people in exotic places.

A tall slim brunette wearing a white short-sleeved fitted blouse and a dark embroidered skirt and sandals approached. Her face was lined with many smiles and she had beautiful warm chocolate-brown eyes. She smiled a radiant smile and extended her hand to both in turn.

"Hi. I'm Sara Sidle. You must be?"

"Drew Parsons. UNLV. And this is my cameraman, Steve Foster."

"Nice to meet you boys. I see you've met Rocky." She bent and patted the old dog's head and he wagged his stubby tail. "Come on through to the kitchen. I just made some ice tea."

"Nice to meet you too, ma'am." Drew murmured, hurrying after the long-legged woman into a white-walled kitchen. _Nobody told me she was so beautiful!_

"Call me Sara, please. Grissom will be down in a minute. He just finished his morning therapy and he always takes a hot bath afterward." Sure enough there was the sound of water rushing down the drain from upstairs. Sara Sidle gracefully assembled four glasses, ice, and mint tea sweetened with honey. Efficiently, she sliced a mango, two bananas, a kiwi, and some melon, mixed it with plain yogurt and spooned it into two bowls.

_Thump, thump, thump._ Heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and then a handsome, broad-shouldered, silver-haired man entered. He walked with a noticeable limp and was bowlegged. Feeling the presence of quiet authority, both students stood to greet him respectfully. Grissom was wearing a dark sweatsuit, slippers, and his hair was still damp and starting to curl.

A look of pure pleasure and affection lit Sara's face when she saw her husband. They kissed sweetly, exchanged greetings, and she stroked his dark-bearded cheek.

"We have company, dear." Sara introduced the students. Grissom glowered when he saw the camera.

"What...camera?...here...our home. Pri...privacy," he said unsteadily.

Sara seemed to have no trouble understanding. She explained quietly about the student project, and the interview, and his face cleared.

"Let's go out back. It's a nice morning." Sara took his arm and led the small group to a round wrought iron table and four well-padded chairs under a spreading shade tree. The boys brought the drinks along, and sipped theirs as Sara put out the yogurt and spoons and napkins. Steve set the camera on a tripod and pushed play, to capture the couple's words and interactions. Grissom grasped his spoon and when his hand trembled, she steadied it with a practiced motion.

Grissom swallowed and crooked a half smile in Sara's direction. He seemed to be focusing only on her, and to have forgotten his audience.

"Can you tell us...about the accident?" Drew asked Sara.

A look of pain and sadness crossed her face. She glanced at Grissom for a moment, collected herself, and started the story.

"Dr. Grissom is a genius. The most brilliant mind I've ever known," she said firmly, and they shared a smile. "We're CSIs, as you know. About two years ago, Gil was on a case. A meth lab. Two male DBs. They'd been dead a few days, right, honey?" He nodded and sipped his ice tea, using both hands. "Well, it didn't seem like much, pretty routine, a drug house with some O.D.s. Gris had a uniform with him and was processing in the basement, and I was across town at a multiple, with Nick and Catherine." She polished off her yogurt and pushed the bowl aside. Tucking an unruly lock of hair behind her ear, Sara continued.

"Grissom was kneeling over the body, photographing, while he waited for the coroner. And then the whole place went up in an explosion. All those volatile chemicals to make meth...it happens. The roof collapsed, fire everywhere, and he was trapped. His legs were pinned, his shoulder too, and his back was burned."

Grissom said slowly, "Put head down...arm...by face...waited. Hoped it... in time. I thought of Sara. While I...wa...waited. To die." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Then, I started to feel...all kinds of se..sensations. Hallu...hallucinations. I saw my mother calling me...far. I heard colors–can't explain–but...did. I felt...was flying upside down. L...like astronaut. Weird. And then...must have passed out."

Sara picked up the story after Grissom became lost in his memories. "I got the call...I was frantic to get there. Nick had to drive, and it seemed to be in slow motion. You could see the flames, the smoke, in the sky. The firemen were still trying to get it under control. It seemed to take forever before they even started digging...for his body." She gasped, the fear still in her face and eyes. "The firefighters finally got through to the basement, where he was. There were clouds of foul smoke everywhere, and they had to wear masks. The first thing they found...was one of the original dead bodies. I thought it was Gil." Her eyes watered and he patted her hand.

"I heard voices, crashes, electric saw...didn't...if was real. Then I saw Sara." The couple smiled at each other.

"It was hours before they got him out. And by that time he'd been breathing in all kinds of drugs. All over his skin, too. Not just meth. The place was like–a clearinghouse for hallucinogens. He had that moment of clarity–when we saw each other–and then he was raving mad. In his own world. Fighting with the EMTs, screaming about colors and outer space. I took his hand while they loaded him in the bus and then he went limp and stared at nothing. I had to let go so they could start an IV and he went off again. They wanted to cuff him, but I got him calmed down."

"Saw an angel." Grissom said simply. It was clear who that was.

"They whisked Grissom off as soon as we got to the hospital. Crushed pelvis, fractured femur, dislocated shoulder, 3rd degree burns, and a nasty blow to the head. That was the cause of the speech problems. But he has an advantage–when words fail him, we use sign language. Oh, and his writing skills are still there. We're working on getting his physical strength and mobility back. The rest? Well, here's a man who never so much as smoked a cigarette in his life, who suddenly was exposed to some hardcore drugs. It kind of scrambled the synapses. Henry–he's our Tox Tech–keeps vials of Grissom's blood in his freezer. Whenever he's giving a new tech a proficiency test, Henry has them run a full tox panel on that blood. Oh, he was on Ecstasy too." She smirked.

"I was high," Grissom smirked back. "And horny."

"Yeah, he was ready to jump my bones right there in the ambulance. They had to cut away his pants to get at the bone fractures, control bleeding, and the um, evidence of arousal, so to speak, was obvious." Grissom snorted and the boys blushed.

"The EMTs still tease me about that, you know!" They all laughed. The phone rang from inside the house and Sara excused herself to answer. They could hear her voice, but not the words. Grissom seemed to wilt as soon as she left, and stared out into the garden.

After a few minutes he yelled, "Sara!" and when she didn't answer right away, he bellowed louder.

"SARA!"

"I'm coming!"

She came back out and put a hand on his shoulder and he calmed.

"Where'd you go?"

"The phone rang. Hey, I have to go to work soon. Here. Time for your pills." Sara pulled a pill dispenser from her pocket and lined up several on the table, all different colors. Grissom swallowed each in turn.

"Now...y...you stuck...with crazy old man," he told her sadly.

"No, Gil," Sara said firmly, sitting down close and facing him. "I'm married to the love of my life. I'm helping you through a rough patch, like you helped me after my...breakdown. In sickness and in health, right? You're not old, you're not crazy, you're my Grissom. My beloved husband. Okay?" She tipped up his chin to look in his eyes.

"I'm a lucky woman. I have love, I have work, I have friends, I have a happy home...more than I ever dreamed of."

He leaned in and kissed her. Sara stood up. Grissom grabbed her around the waist and pressed his face to her stomach.

"Don't go."

"Honey, Greg will be here soon. You can play some chess, or backgammon. Work on your book. I have to go to work, but I'll be home soon."

"Okay."

"Good."

Drew broke into their moment. "And Greg is?"

"Greg Sanders," Sara said warmly. "He runs swing shift. He was our DNA tech, but then trained for the field..."

"Sara mentored him."

"Yeah, well, we all did. So he worked up from CSI 1 and now he's a supervisor."

"So are you."

"Night shift. When Gris left, Catherine took over for a while. It, uh, didn't work out."

"She was a disaster," Grissom said.

"No, she wasn't." Sara smiled a little, remembering. "But she was no Grissom either. She had big shoes to fill. Not just a great supervisor, a great scientist and criminalist, an expert on serial killers..."

"Too many of those crazy bastards," Grissom broke in.

"Serial killers? Yes. They all come to Vegas, too, for some reason. Grissom is also one of the top entomologists in the world. Has an unbeaten solve rate, too. Catherine kind of...lost interest, lost her spark, without Handsome here around. I think she always carried a torch for you, Gris."

Grissom smirked. "Friends."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. But every woman who works with you is smitten."

"Just like ev...every man who works...you...is h...half in love," Grissom protested.

Sara pursed her lips with amusement at him. "Plus Catherine's father was killed and she inherited his money and casinos. So she took charge of those. I think it's a better fit for her, frankly. Nick has his own team, too, back in Texas. And Warrick..." they exchanged a sad glance, "Warrick was murdered. Eight years ago. So other than him, of the original team, we all made boss."

"I had t..to leave...before you...moved up."

"Yeah, well. I never was ambitious though. I just loved working with you."

"Me too."

"Grissom still does consulting work. Helps with cases with insects, writes journal articles...he's working on his fifth book." Grissom face cleared and he nodded. Clearly, still being useful and productive was important to his morale. He stood and hugged her. And they exchanged what seemed to be a ritual of departure.

"Be careful."

"I will."

"Be safe."

"I will."

"Be home soon."

"I will."

"I love you Sara."

"And I love you, Gil." They kissed. Sara said goodbye to the students as well, and left. Steve and Drew started packing up their gear.

"Dr. Grissom?" He looked up. "Anything you'd like to say, before we go?"

Grissom looked straight into the camera for the first time, and said without hesitation,

"I love my wife."

**THE END**


End file.
